


Fallen Angel

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angels, BAMF John, Case, Crime, Erections, Explicit Sexual Content, John Looks After Sherlock, M/M, Photographs, Sherlock Nude, Sherlock Takes A Risk, Sherlock's First Time, Virgin Sherlock, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unusual murder case leads to Sherlock's taking an unusual strategy to solving it. Which leads to something even more unusual.</p><p>This was inspired by ANNUNNAKI.</p><p>PS. This story is crying out for pictures -- any artists out there want to give it a go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angels Are Dying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ANNUNNAKI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANNUNNAKI/gifts).



> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

John read the text (the fourth in as many minutes) Sherlock had sent about a new case he was working on. Usually the first day, gathering information, wasn't really a two person job so he was taking his time leaving work. But now he was in the taxi, trying to get information out of Sherlock, and being steadily ignored. He had no idea what he was going to find when he went to the flat. He put the phone away and gave up. When he arrived, he paid the driver and hurried up the stairs. 

"Sherlock?" he called out, hanging his coat and walking into the sitting room. He paused. He blinked. There were pictures tacked up on the wall, covering every inch above the sofa. They were photos of men, models it looked like, with wings on their backs like angels. Most of them were naked, some had a cloth draped strategically to cover their bodies, and others had erections standing against their stomachs. He called out for Sherlock more loudly, finding even more photos on the desk. 

Sherlock slipped on his dressing gown and came out of his bedroom.

"What took you so long?" he asked angrily.

"I do have a job, Sherlock," John said. He looked around the sitting room again. "What is all of this? I assume this is for the case?" 

"No," Sherlock said. "It's a new hobby obviously." He stomped to the kettle to switch it on, rinsing one of the four cups he'd already left in the sink. He blamed John for that as well -- he didn't even want the tea but he'd drunk it just to illustrate how long he'd been waiting. He had a relatively good idea this behaviour was the kind of thing Mrs Hudson had called 'childish' but he knew he'd do nothing to stop it. He poured one cup of tea and then turned to look at John. "I've not made you one -- why should I help you if you refuse to help me?" He carried his tea over to his desk.

John rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Stop pouting and explain this to me," he said. "If it's a new fascination, I will have to exercise my right as a tenant here and make you move all of this to your room."

"Why?" Sherlock said, now intrigued. He stood up and poured a second cup, which he carried into the sitting room. "You don't find them aesthetically pleasing?" These kinds of things were out of Sherlock's realm of experience, and thus any kind of insight was useful.

John moved his eyes slowly to Sherlock and raised his brows. "No. Not a whole wallpaper of them. The lighting and the colours...they are very well taken photos...just not really my cup of tea."

"Why though?" Sherlock said. "Because of the erections?"

"Sherlock, will you tell me about this case already? Is there even a case or did you just bring me home early to annoy me?" John raised his brows and took a sip from his cup. 

Sherlock picked up a photograph and looked at it carefully again. "He does have a large penis, though -- I suppose some people find that attractive . . ." he said distractedly. He set it down and looked at John. "Most of these men are dead," he stated.

John sighed and nodded once. So there was a case after all. "A serial killer?" 

"Looks like it," Sherlock said. "With a quite unusual kink -- well, it seems unusual, doesn't it? I mean I know people find nudity . . . 'sexy', I guess is the word, but the angel business . . . it's unusual, right?"

"Yes, it's a bit odd," John nodded. "What else do they have in common? Anything?"

"These are all shots that were used in adverts, but for different things -- clubs, groups, to be fair, some were just phone box cards . . . a few of the men knew each other but that seems more coincidence than anything," Sherlock said. He picked up a few of them, looking closely. 

"Hmm. They must have something else in common. Who's taking the photos? Where do they work?" he asked. 

"Excellent point, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Luckily, I've already thought of that. They're all from the same agency, but they basically just sell the pictures to whomever is interested in buying them. They don't have any connections to the actual businesses." He got up and brought his laptop over, pulling up the agency's website, and handing it to John. "'Erotic but tasteful' is what they call it. What do you think? Do you find it erotic or tasteful?"

John scrolled through the website, looking at the different photos. "I suppose if I was into this sort of thing, they would be." 

"But you're not into it?"

"Not this sort of thing...I mean the angels, specifically. I mean, I like a sexy photo as much as the next guy but this seems a bit over the top for me. Do you like this sort of thing?" 

"Me? I don't know what sexy means," Sherlock said. "This isn't my area obviously . . ."

"Well...sexy is something that turns you on, makes you feel good," John explained. 

"I don't see any need for that," Sherlock said. "Some of us have work to do, you know." He stood up and went to the wall, looking at the pictures again. "So where do you think we should start?"

"So you choose not to feel anything like that? You block it out?" John asked. 

Sherlock turned to look at John. "What? What are you talking about? I don't choose anything, I don't block anything. I just . . . can you please try to focus? God, you've got sex on the brain. Are you absolutely sure these pictures aren't your thing after all?"

"Calm down! You just said it. You made it seem like you choose work over that sort of thing." John stood and went to look at the photos as well. "We should start at the agency, question them there."

Sherlock looked back at the photographs. "Yes, that seems like a good idea . . ." he said slowly. "However, it's not. I've already spoken with them -- they know nothing. They're a legitimate business, they photographed and paid these men and that was that." He swallowed. "We need to find him and I've got an idea how to do that." He turned back to John. "But I'm going to need your help."

John looked at Sherlock. "Of course you do," he said. "What are you thinking?"

"Invite him to us," Sherlock said.

"How are we supposed to do that? He's attacking models," John said.

"Right . . ." Sherlock said. "Have I told you how handsome you've been looking recently? Quite sexy, I'm sure -- all that's missing is a pair of wings . . . "

John's brows furrowed. "If you think you're going to take pictures of me like this, you've lost your mind."

"I knew you were too uptight sexually -- you should see someone about that," Sherlock said. "Fine. I'll do it." He grabbed a couple pictures from the wall. "But you're going to have to take the photographs, I'm afraid. Can you at least handle that?"

"I'm not uptight!" John huffed. "It's just...I don't want to be out there like that for a bunch of strangers. I have a public job," he said. "And why do I have to take the photos?"

"Your face won't be in it, you idiot -- are you saying your patients will recognise your penis, because if that's the case, John, I'm afraid I'm going to have to report you to the authorities," Sherlock said, avoiding John's question.

"All of these have faces showing so excuse me for assuming so," John said. "I don't want to do it." 

"God, John! You don't have to do anything except stand there and hit a button!" Sherlock said. "Close your eyes if you're so afraid of nudity."

"I meant I don't want to have my photos taken," he said. "Why do I have to take yours? Can't we set another trap? Or hire a proper photographer? I don't know anything about that."

"Fine -- this other trap, what are you thinking?" Sherlock asked. "Go to Soho and post a sign saying 'Killing men dressed as angels? Please call' -- is that your big idea, Mister Genius?"

"No! Just...we can find a place with a lot of photos and just...see who takes one and then investigate them," he said. His voice trailed off as he spoke, knowing it would be impossible to follow everyone. "Fine. I'll take the damn photos."

Sherlock softened his voice. "Look . . . I tried on my own but I can't get the right angle. I'd prefer not to be nude in front of a stranger, all right? This man should be off the street -- we'll hang up a few pictures . . . he'll come to us, I'm sure of it." He looked over and gave him a little smile. "All right?"

John nodded, wondering how on earth this was going to work.


	2. Sherlock Becomes An Angel

"Are you..." John asked slowly, wondering how best to word his question. "Are you going to have an erection, as well?"

"Well, they do, don't they? How hard can it be -- difficult, I mean." Sherlock made an embarrassed smile. "Look, it's natural, right? You just rub it, right, and then you've got an erection... you don't have to look if you don't want to."

"Look, I'll be fine, Sherlock. I was just wondering because, you have to be aroused, you know? Something has to turn you on to get things going," he said. Then again, there were people who just touched themselves and got off without thinking about anything specific. A purely physical response... "Well, let's go to your room and we'll figure it out."

"I'll just rub it," Sherlock called, heading to his room. He'd pulled the curtains but had all the lamps on. There was a sheet tacked up on the wall and a camera on a tripod. He stood in front of the sheet. "Get it lined up first," he said. "Only show from here to here, obviously," he added, pointing from his neck to his upper thighs.

"Right," John said, lining the camera up to the right height. "Okay. Should I leave the room while you...get ready?"

"I'm ready," Sherlock said. "I've got nothing underneath my dressing gown." He let it slip to the floor. "Oh yeah, the wings..." He reached over and slipped his arms through the straps. "I'll have to turn to the side, I think." He did and then looked up at John. "Look all right?"

"Where did you get--?" John started. But he stopped as he looked up at him and made a soft sound which he covered up by clearing his throat. Sherlock looked good...he was all lines and angles, muscular but not in the same way as John. "Um, yeah," he nodded. "Are you...I meant if you wanted me to step out while you got hard."

"Oh yes, no, that's fine," Sherlock said. "Unless you want to, obviously." He looked down and held his cock, stroking it a bit awkwardly. Nothing really happened. "How long does it take?" he asked, still looking down watching as he waited.

John shook his head. "I've never done it as just a physical response. I always think about something and it happens pretty quickly."

"What should I think about then?" Sherlock said. He closed his eyes. "All I see in my mind are those stupid photographs and nothing's happening." He moved his hand a bit more erratically.

"Don't -- be careful," John said, watching his hand moving wildly. "Just...think about something that makes you feel good. Something you'd want to try, or even someone you want to try with."

"You mean sex, don't you?" Sherlock asked, slowing his hand a bit. "But I don't want to try anything with anyone really. I want to solve the case." He looked over at John a bit pathetically.

"Well...it doesn't have to be sex. What else...I mean, what do you like? Think of a person you find attractive," he suggested. 

"I don't find people attractive, John," Sherlock said frustratedly. "I find one or two interesting and the rest annoying. Just stop bossing me about for a moment. These stupid wings aren't helping..." He slid them off and moved over to the bed, flopping down. He took a deep breath and starting stroking himself again. This time he was really concentrating. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel sexy -- he might as well just be rubbing his wrist. He tried for a few moments and then said, "Is this not right? You're the expert here -- just help me or you're going to have to be the one in the photos."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" John asked, but as the words came out of his mouth he knew what the answer was. "Look...my hand won't be any different from yours if you're not feeling anything," he said. 

"Your hand knows what it's supposed to be doing!" Sherlock shouted. God, John really was infuriating sometimes. To be honest, Sherlock was surprised John wasn't jumping at the chance to lord his knowledge over him. "Just...get it started or whatever and then I'll take it from there...please," he added, trying to use his nicest tone.

"If you shout at me again, I'm leaving," John said sternly. He took a deep breath to calm down and then went over to Sherlock's side. He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock and started stroking, slow and steady. 

Sherlock lifted his head and looked down. "Should you be doing it slow like that?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

John lifted his gaze and gave Sherlock an annoyed look. "I told you, if you're not feeling it, it's not going to work. Close your eyes and try to relax."

Sherlock lay back and closed his eyes. He took an obnoxiously large breath and tried to relax. He tried to imagine something nice, but all he could think of were those damn naked angels. "What do you think about when you...you know?" he asked softly.

John licked his lips lightly. "Different stuff. Sometimes it's things I've done before, most of the time its something I want to try."

"Like what?" Sherlock said. He didn't feel any different down below, but he was starting to relax a little.

"I don't know. Like...being sucked off or...or having sex somewhere we're not supposed to. Sometimes I just look up videos online."

"I knew it," Sherlock said, smiling a little. "Anyway, don't have sex on the kitchen table or somewhere like that, please." He shifted a little and then felt something -- something different. "I think something's happening, John..." he whispered.

"Mhmm," John murmured as he felt Sherlock getting harder. "Is that what you like? Sex in odd places?" he asked softly.

"I've never had sex so I have no idea," Sherlock said, taking a deep breath. He was trying to pay attention to the changes in his body, but he found it a bit hard to focus.

John lowered his voice a bit. "You mentioned the table and now you're getting hard...is that what you'd like? Being crowded back against it? Breaking a deep kiss to kiss your neck...lifting you up on the table...touching you..." John left out a specific person, unsure who Sherlock would prefer and letting him make that part up himself. 

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled. "It's hard, isn't it?" It felt pretty good actually. "Is it ready for the pictures, do you think?"

John glanced down again and moved his hand away, watching his cock standing erect. "Yes," he murmured, moving away and to the camera. 

Sherlock stood up and moved back towards the wall. He slipped the wings over his shoulder. He turned slightly. "Do I look okay?" he asked, trying to mimic one of the poses.

John looked him up and down and nodded. "Mhmm. Just...do what they did in the photos," he said, taking a picture. "I'll take a bunch and we can sort them after."

Sherlock turned while John clicked away at the camera. "How anyone could do this for a living, I do not know," he said. "I feel like a total idiot."

John smirked and kept snapping photos as Sherlock posed at different angles. 

Sherlock looked down. "It's still big," he said. "Is that normal?"

John nodded. "You can wait for it to go soft or you can take care of it," he said. 

"How?" Sherlock said, grabbing his dressing gown. He slipped it around him and then pulled out some pajama bottoms. He slipped them on, pushing his erection down.

"Finish what I started," John said. "Have you done that before?" 

"Masturbate, you mean? No," Sherlock said. "I mean...I don't remember if I did it when I was young but...no, doesn't appeal. I guess I'll just leave it...it'll go away eventually, right?" 

"Yeah, if you stop thinking about it," John said. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, taking the camera off the tripod. "Let's go look at these." He took it out to the sitting room to load them onto the laptop. "You decide which ones look best -- I know you said 'it's not your thing' but your eye will be better at this than mine."

"Sure," John said, following Sherlock out to the sitting room. "Go ahead and load them up."

Sherlock hooked the camera to the laptop and then pulled the chair out for John. "I'll make some tea while you look," he said, moving to the kitchen.

John sat down and scrolled through the photos. Maybe this wasn't his sort of thing, but he couldn't help admitting that they looked good...Sherlock looked good. He started deleting the less clear ones, leaving the rest of them and scrolling through them. They were good actually. He couldn't stop looking.

Sherlock brought two cups over. "Do they look all right -- as good as the other ones?" he asked.

"Yeah, they look good," he said, trying to make his voice sound normal.

"Good. Pick say the best four and then we'll print them out with a number and we'll have this sorted," Sherlock said. He took his tea to his chair. When he sat down, his erection tented his pajama bottoms but he tried to just ignore it. "Anyway, thanks for that -- all of it, I mean. I have a feeling you felt uncomfortable but thanks..."

"Well, I've certainly done worse things for you," John said, choosing the four pictures he liked best. He printed them out and handed them to Sherlock. "Are you going to add your real number?" he asked. 

"We'll put the burner phone on it," Sherlock said, moving to his desk to dig it out. He plugged it in to charge it. 'We'll make a few copies -- maybe hang out up a dozen? It won't take long."

"Okay, but if we go meet him, we're getting Greg and the police involved," John said.

"You are such a spoil sport," Sherlock said. "You print them up while I go get dressed." He disappeared into his bedroom.

John rolled his eyes but didn't respond. He printed out several copies of each photo they had chosen.

When Sherlock returned they headed down to the area where the other posters had been hung. They divided them and split up to spread them out. Sherlock paused for a moment to look at the other adverts -- of men, of women, for men, for women. He didn't find any of them 'sexy' -- he saw them all as quite desperate really. Which perhaps wasn't fair. Sherlock might have spent quite a bit of his life assuming that anyone chasing sex was pathetic, but John Watson was clear evidence that even clever, interesting people can have a desire for it. He saw another picture with a male angel. He held his up next to it -- his looked quite good compared to the professional one. He tore the other picture down and replaced it with his. He hoped the other angel was still alive. Once his posters were gone, he went to find John.

John put the pictures up over other ones, knowing that would lead to Sherlock being noticed. He wanted to catch the murderer, but he wanted Sherlock to be safe. He hoped this would be over quickly. When he saw Sherlock he held up his empty hands. "What do we do when you start getting real calls?" he asked. 

"See what he wants," Sherlock said. "And set up a meeting with him. Or her. Or them." They headed to the flat, stopping to pick up some Chinese to take home with them.

"No. I mean a call from someone actually interested," he said.

"Well, I won't know, will I -- they might be interested in my incredibly sexy body because they want me as a life partner or because they want to kill me. I won't be able to tell over the phone, will I?" Sherlock said, setting out some plates after clicking on the kettle. 

"So you'll meet everyone?" John asked. 

"You just said I'm not allowed to meet any of them," Sherlock said. "Lestrade can meet all of them." He took a sip of tea. "Why? Are you secretly interested in those who call, I mean, the non-murdering ones?"

"I was simply wondering what the plan was," John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and finished his tea.


	3. The Wait

The next day Sherlock set out to do some research, but kept the burner phone in his pocket. He was surprised no one rang. He got back to the flat just as John was coming in from work.

"Did you think those photographs of me were sexy?" he asked, fiddling with papers on the table as John warmed up leftovers.

John glanced over at Sherlock. "Why are you asking?" he asked.

"Because no one's called," Sherlock said. "I had to take your word on the fact that they were sexy and now I'm wondering if perhaps you deliberately sabotaged the whole thing out of jealousy." He ripped up an envelope and then realised he wished he hadn't, but scooped the pieces into his hand and carried them to the bin.

John rolled his eyes. "I didn't sabotage you. I'm actually surprised no one has called yet," he admitted. 

"So you did think they were sexy?" Sherlock said smiling cheekily.

John sighed dramatically and looked at the ceiling. "Stop harassing me," he smiled. 

"No wonder I often see you on cases, just standing there starry-eyed. You've been hypnotised by my sexiness," Sherlock said, laughing to himself. "I'm going to start locking the door when I'm in the shower, just in case you get the urge to peek in at my naked torso."

"The same torso I just took photos of and will post everywhere if you keep harassing me?" John asked, grinning. 

Sherlock looked over. "You wouldn't do that -- you want to keep it all your own," he said. "Which is fine -- I don't have any desire to show anyone but you anyway."

"You don't want to show me either. I don't want to see," John said, though he noticed his voice was a bit odd at the end there. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, mock offended. "I had just come up with what I thought would be a perfect birthday present for you, but if you're not interested in ever seeing those pictures again, forget it..." He fiddled with his food a little. 

John laughed softly and shook his head. "Look, someone is going to call you. There's no way they won't. And hopefully it will be the killer and you'll have something fun to do."

"You say the sweetest things, John Watson," Sherlock said. He carried his still pretty full plate to the sink. "Thanks for dinner," he said before moving to the computer to work for the rest of the evening.

John rolled his eyes, knowing Sherlock had barely eaten. He took out his own computer and went onto the blog to answer some comments and emails. 

Sherlock delved deeper into the each of the victim's lives, but he really didn't see any connections between them except for the fact that they modelled. Two were gay, a couple were married heterosexuals; a few had records, but only for minor offenses. One was an estate agent who only posed for a little extra cash -- actually a number of them did it on the side but everything seemed legitimate. None of them seemed to have a direct connection to whatever establishment they were advertising. The only link were those damn wings, which only reassured him that his assumptions about this case were correct.

Yet as the next day passed, Sherlock's own posters didn't get any response. He was annoyed -- he was pretty sure it was just because his plan wasn't working, though there might have been a tiny part that took it personally. Those pictures were just as sexy as any of the other ones -- John had assured him of that. Why hadn't the murderer got in contact?

After the third full day without the killer taking the bait, Sherlock realised something else had to be done. 

John went to work like usual, telling Sherlock to call if there was any word from the killer. He too was surprised when no one called at all. He had even walked by some of the posters, making sure none of them had been covered up by someone else. 

When John got home that night, Sherlock had a cup of tea already for him. "So you think you're quite clever, eh?" he said, smirking a little.

John paused half way into his chair, his brows furrowed. "Well, yes but why don't you tell me why I am this time?"

"No one's called," Sherlock said. "We'll have to go to the modelling agency. Like you suggested. I'll be in an unpleasant mood for the rest of the night -- just so you know." He moved over to the sofa and flopped down.

"Well, I still think it's a good idea to check out the agency so I won't apologise for that," John said. 

"Don't be smug," Sherlock said. "It's unattractive." He turned on the television and flicked through the channels. He didn't really have the energy to go into a full pout, but he did his best.

"I'm fine with that. I'm hardly ever right," John grinned.

"That's not true. You're --" Sherlock said quickly before stopping and smiling. "Oh, I get it -- you want me to go on and on about your being right -- making a big fuss. Well, I won't do it, John. You know I can't tolerate attention seeking behaviour." He threw a pillow over at John.

John caught the pillow and laughed. "Just a little bit?" he smiled. 

"I admitted it," Sherlock said. "That's more than I do for any other human being on this planet. That's something."

"All right, fine," John said, throwing the pillow back. 

After dinner Sherlock shared all the research he'd done with John, talking through what he'd hope to get from the agency. In truth, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure they'd find anything there, but he had nowhere else to turn at this point.


	4. The Agency

In the morning, they headed out. They were greeted at the front desk by a not unattractive woman who seemed to smile too much at John. This annoyed Sherlock, but it annoyed him more when he realised that John was smiling too much back. "Control yourself," he muttered as they walked to the manager's office.

"It's just a bit of flirting," John protested, still smiling as he followed Sherlock into the office. The angel photos were all over the walls. 

"Are you still shooting these photographs?" Sherlock asked the man. 

"Indeed," he said. "I assure you these tragedies have nothing to do with us. We just make art -- we can't be held responsible for how people respond to that art." He got up and shook hands with them. "I'm Brian Russell, artistic director."

He then stepped towards one of the walls. "The Fallen Angels is incredibly popular for a range of markets -- they've appeared on romance novel covers, calendars, club ads -- it's not all porn, you know, if that's what you're thinking."

"I'm not interested in any of those things," Sherlock said dismissively. "I'm not all that interested in your business at all. I'm interesting in finding a serial killer."

"Fair enough," Russell said. "I apologise for being defensive. As you can imagine, our business is often unfairly judged -- I do care about art. It's my life. I just want to share beautiful things with the world."

Sherlock looked at the walls. "These men's deaths were not beautiful . . ." he said. "Do the new models know what's going on?"

"They do," Russell said. He moved to the desk and pulled out a file. "Here's our standard contract -- we've listed all the types of businesses we sell the photos to and even have a clause that they will be contacted for their permission if we get approached by a business not listed."

"Do they know about the killings?"

"Yes," Russell said. "Of course. In fact we were the ones who notified the police. We had contacted three of the men we'd recently shot and could not find them. When we finally reached the family of one, we'd found he'd gone missing. When the second one's family said the same thing, we called the police and gave them access to all our information."

Sherlock looked over at him. He moved over to the desk and skimmed the papers. It really did seem above board. Russell did seem like a concerned man, even if his definition of what was beautiful didn't quite match Sherlock's. 

"Could we get a list of all employees, particularly ones who'd have access to either the shoots or the models' files?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I'll get that for you," Russell said. "While you wait, would you like to watch a shoot? We've got an angel one going on right now."

Sherlock turned to John.

John shrugged. "That could be fun," he said.

Sherlock pulled a face and then turned back to the man. "Do you only use male models? No women at all?" he asked. 

"Why?" Russell asked. He smiled a little. "You don't find the men attractive?"

"I'm just wondering if women are being killed as well," Sherlock said bluntly.

The man's smile disappeared. "We've occasionally had a few women in here for the couple shoots, but our portfolio is primarily men."

"Have any women appeared in the angel shoots?"

"What do you think? Of course not -- Victoria's Secret would sue us," Russell laughed.

Sherlock looked over at John. "I presume you have some idea what he's talking about," he said.

John nodded. "Don't worry about any of that," he told Sherlock. To Russell, he asked, "We won't be in the way, will we?"

"No, I'm sure it'll be fine," Russell said. He led them through the back of the building, knocking lightly on a door. He peeked his head in and called the photographer out. "These men are looking into the deaths. I know you worked with a few of them -- could they just come in and watch and then maybe ask a few questions once you've finished?"

"Sure, as long as Timothy's okay with it," the photographer said. He disappeared for a moment and then returned. "We've almost finished, but come on in."

Sherlock let John go first, watching as Russell left, promising to return with the information momentarily.

John smiled at the model as they found a spot out of the way. "We can pick up tips," he whispered to Sherlock.

"You worry me," Sherlock said. He looked over at the model, watching him move through poses and then leaned close to John. "His is bigger than mine," he whispered.

John nodded as he looked at the model. "That doesn't really matter though," he said.

"Depends," Sherlock said.

John smirked softly. "Oh?"

"There could be advantages to a longer one," Sherlock said. "For example, I could stand a bit further away from the urinal." He glanced at John and for a split second wondered what size John's was. "I'm fine with mine, though. I was just noting the difference."

John chuckled softly. "Hmm, I thought you were going to say something else. Anyway, you shouldn't worry."

"I'm not worried," Sherlock said. "Do you agree with Russell -- do you find this all 'beautiful'?"

John shrugged. "I can appreciate it," he said.

"But you think I'm more beautiful?" Sherlock asked, not looking over at him.

"Hmm. I don't fancy encouraging an attention seeker," John grinned, nudging Sherlock's arm with his elbow.

Sherlock let a small smile cross his lips. "I'll take that as a yes," he said quietly. "That's all that matters." He stood up as the photographer finished up. "You go talk to Mr Sexy," he said. "I'll speak with the photographer." 

John broke away and went to talk to the model, who now had a shawl wrapped around his waist. He asked about the man's past, about how long he'd been doing this and if he knew the other victims. He didn't, but he admitted he had used them to escort, but had stopped doing that since he'd heard about the murders. "I liked the extra money, but it's not worth risking my life," he said.

John nodded. "He's one of the best -- he'll catch the guy." He motioned to Sherlock.

The model looked over at Sherlock and hummed. "He looks like he'd be good at this," he said. "Handsome. Is he single?"

Something flared in John's stomach that he had to swallow down before answering. "No, he isn't, sorry," John said. "Thanks for your time." He walked over to Sherlock again. 

Sherlock was just finishing with the photographer when John came over. "Have you had any problems with any of the models -- Timothy seems charming, obviously, but has anyone caused any issues?"

"To be honest," the photographer said. "I spend less than an hour with them -- most of my time is working with the photographs, not the models. Not that I have any problems with them. . . they're professional, I'm professional, everything's been fine."

Sherlock looked him over but could tell he wasn't being totally open. "You never have any interactions with them outside the studio . . . maybe at a club or. . .?"

"God, no," the photographer said. "All right, look, I don't have any problems with any of this -- what consenting adults do together, I really don't care. But the thing is . . . my wife, she doesn't really know exactly what we do here. She thinks I work in advertising -- which I do -- but it's just easier keeping some details from her. I mean, the other day she read about the murders and I just . . . I hate lying to her, but --" He rubbed his hands over his face. "All of the men have been nice. I've not seen any drug activity or criminal stuff -- they come in, I take their pictures, and they leave."

"Did you work with any of the ones who were killed?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, two of them," the photographer said. "Shame actually -- they were both pretty nice, just trying to get through uni."

Sherlock pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to the man. "If you think of anything else, call us," he said. He turned to John. "Let's go find Russell."

John followed Sherlock out, nodding at the model as they passed him. He was looking Sherlock up and down and John stepped closer, hurrying him out a bit. 

In the hallway, Sherlock looked at John. "Find out anything about the case or did you spend the whole time offering to help him maintain his erection?"

John shoved his arm. "He preferred you," he said, realising he sounded annoyed as he said it. "He doesn't know anything. Didn't know any of the guys that disappeared, but he's worried. He was escorting but has stopped for now."

"Well, I hope you explained that I am useless in the erection department," Sherlock said. He looked up as Russell headed toward them. "No one knows anything," he muttered. "Perhaps you were wrong about us finding all the answers here."

Russell directed them into a side office. "Here are the files -- in each is our information on the model, a test shot, whatever else we have. I've separated them into two piles."

"Alive and dead?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, yes, but it sounds so horrible," Russell said. "Yet only life can conquer death and art is life so our work must go on. I'll leave you to it -- can I get you anything, tea, coffee?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock said, glancing over at John.

"I'm okay," John said, pulling the pile closer so he could reach the files. "What exactly are we looking for?" he asked once they were alone.

"Anything that will help," Sherlock said. "I don't know yet what that is, but it must be in here."

"Okay," John said, starting to look through the files.

Sherlock looked through the stack of the dead men's files first, trying to find any other connections. He looked for anything -- let his brain be open to anything -- but nothing was there.

John looked through several files before he found something strange. "This one doesn't have photos."

Sherlock reached over and looked through, noting the name, age, and address. "We'll ask Russell about him. Let's get through the rest of them."

No other files had anything unusual, so they stopped to ask Russell about the photo-less file. Russell skimmed through it and said, "It looks like we never hired him. I can ask around for more info on the guy if that'd help."

Sherlock gave him his card, telling him to get in touch if anyone knew anything. About anyone. He was starting to feel quite frustrated by the whole thing. "Let's get back," he told John. "I need to think."

John nodded and followed Sherlock out. They were silent on the way back and after getting home, Sherlock disappeared into his room. "I need to think," he said as he shut the door. 

John sighed and went to make some tea. As the water boiled he wandered around the sitting room, tidying up a bit. He saw a few loose photos of Sherlock and picked them up, studying them closely. They really were good photos. He'd never seen Sherlock in that way before, but he really was an attractive man.

Suddenly a phone started ringing, startling him. He sighed and stuffed the photos into the book on his chair. He went to get the phone from Sherlock's pocket. 

"Sherlock? There's a voicemail on the burner, "he said, knocking on his door.

Sherlock opened his eyes, not sure how long he'd been away. It took a second for him to process John's words, but now the only thing that mattered was that his plan had worked. "Come in," he said, sitting up. "Let's hear it."


	5. The Meeting

John handed Sherlock the phone, sitting next to him so he could listen as well. The caller was a man who wanted to meet, leaving a call back number so it could be arranged.

Sherlock smiled and stood up from the bed. "I knew I was right," he said a little too proudly. He grabbed the phone from John. "Let's find him." He redialled the number, putting it on speaker.

"Yeah?"

"I'm just returning your call," Sherlock said calmly.

"You the fallen angel?" the voice asked.

Sherlock listened carefully -- trying to place an age, location, or accent. "I am," he said.

"Which one?"

Sherlock glanced at John, as he quickly considered whether or not to invent a name. "The one you called," he decided on.

"I'm calling them all," the man said. "You work for Brian Russell then?"

Sherlock was almost giddy, looking over at John again. "I did," he said. "What do you want with me?"

"You know," the voice said.

"I don't," Sherlock replied, wishing he'd thought to record this.

"Come find out," the man said, his voice lightening a little.

Sherlock looked over at John once more. "Where and when?"

The man gave the address. "In an hour. Will that work for you?" All of a sudden he seemed quite cheerful. "We can make other arrangements if that doesn't suit."

"That works," Sherlock said. "I'll see you there."

John stood up. "I'm going to text Lestrade so he can have some people in the area."

"God, you're so cautious it's obnoxious," Sherlock said. "Why don't you come with me and just stop being such a baby about everything?"

"I'm not arguing about this, Sherlock. I'll compromise and text him when we get there instead of right now."

Sherlock made a little face and then let it go. "Should I change clothes? He didn't really say why we were meeting and he obviously doesn't know that I know his real intention . . . should I try to look sexier or something, just in case?" he asked as he looked in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair.

"You should change and bring the wings. As far as you know that's his thing. You'll look less suspicious if you've got the wings -- which is a sentence I never thought I'd say to you." John watched Sherlock fuss his hair and smiled softly. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, moving to pick out some different clothes. He also grabbed a bag to put the wings in. "I'm not walking down the street in them . . . and who are we going to say you are? My wing handler?" 

John opened his mouth before he closed it and thought for a moment. "I don't know -- your agent. You're not going alone."

"Look, I'm obviously not going to strip off for him or anything, you don't have to come. If you're just looking for a chance to see me nude in those wings again, I'll do that for you when I get home," Sherlock said, changing his clothes.

"Don't flatter yourself," John grumbled to himself. "I'm making sure you don't get killed."

"You mean so you'll have my sexy angel body all to yourself?" Sherlock laughed. "I can't decide if you're trying to control me or just being greedy."

"Get dressed," John said, leaving the room.

Sherlock got himself ready and came out of his room. "You should be more excited, John. This is going to be the good part -- after almost a week of waiting, you should be looking forward to this."

"I'm looking forward to this being over. It's made you a bit odd," he said as he pulled his jacket on.

"It has not," Sherlock said. "It's made me annoyed because it's taken so long but it's not made me odd. You're the odd one. Anyway, shut up, let's go."

They took a cab but asked to be dropped off a few streets away. When they got out, Sherlock turned to John and said, "Let me go ahead. He won't let us both in -- whatever he wants, he doesn't want an audience. Give me a couple minutes' lead and then follow. If he's watching out the window, he'll be looking for me. Give me time to get in and then come up to the flat. If I'm not out in ten minutes, knock on the door. All right?"

John sighed, uneasy about the idea but knowing that arguing with Sherlock would be useless. "Fine. But I'm texting Greg now and setting the timer. Ten minutes," he said. 

"Don't be so dramatic," Sherlock said. "At least wait until we know it's him. I'll text you." He grabbed the bag and headed off up to the flat.

He knocked at the door. There was a noise behind it and then it opened a crack and a voice asked, "You on your own?

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Was I supposed to bring someone?"

"No," the man said opening the door. "Come in."

Sherlock looked at the man's face, memorising every detail he could take in. He was young and quite handsome though the fact that he noticed that surprised Sherlock. He stepped inside and set the bag down near the door.

"What's that?" the man asked.

"The wings," Sherlock explained. "In case we needed them . . ."

"For what?" the man asked.

"I...I don't know -- I don't know what this is about," Sherlock said. He tried to scan the room without the man noticing.

"Yeah, right, sorry," the man said, smiling. "What's your name then?" He sat down on the sofa and then motioned to a chair for Sherlock to sit down.

Sherlock sat down. "It's Daniel," he said, grabbing at the first name to come to mind. "What's yours?"

"It's also Daniel," the man said. He looked closely at Sherlock. "That's a coincidence, isn't it?"

"It is," Sherlock said. "So why have you invited me over, Daniel?" he asked.

"Yeah, sorry about all this -- I don't mean to be dramatic," Daniel said, his voice relaxing a bit. "I just wanted to ask you a couple questions. No funny business or anything."

"That's a relief," Sherlock said. "You never can tell..."

"You mean because of the murders?" Daniel asked.

"What murders?" Sherlock said. Then he quickly added, "I just mean, I don't usually go around to strangers' flats."

"You sure? Your advert looked a bit . . . like you might be up for it," the man said.

"Well, that's nothing to do with me. The agency doesn't even tell me what they're used for...but you must know that -- you said you worked there."

"No, I didn't," Daniel said.

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "I thought you mentioned the agency."

"I did," Daniel said. "But I didn't work for them -- no offense, but I've got a bit more dignity than that." He stood up quickly. "Can I get you a drink?" he said and moved to a cupboard behind Sherlock. Sherlock could hear him opening a drawer and held his breath. Where was John? Surely it'd been ten minutes already. He exhaled when the man returned with two glasses of wine. He wasn't sure why he'd felt that panic.

"Thanks," Sherlock said, taking the glass but not a drink. "So any other questions? Are you thinking of getting into modelling?"

"Why? Do you think I'm good looking enough?" he asked, staring straight at Sherlock.

"Sure," Sherlock said. He thought about John again.

"You're right -- I am. I could definitely be a model. But the thing is, most models are quite stupid. Sexy but stupid. Like you . . . I mean, how stupid does someone have to be to allow himself to be locked into a stranger's flat?" He was still staring at Sherlock.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Jesus, you are stupid -- you are perfect for that prick Russell," Daniel said. He sat back a bit. "See, I am good enough looking to be a model. The problem is, I'm not stupid. I have ideas . . . I have excellent ideas. I went to talk to Brian Russell and I shared my ideas. But he said no. He said I should fuck more and talk less." He took a sip of wine. "Did you fuck him then?"

Sherlock shook his head. He was trying to use the moment of quiet to listen for John.

"Maybe you're not as stupid as you look," Daniel said. "Anyway, it's not the first time I've been insulted by a prick so I left and didn't think anymore about it. Until six months later. When I started seeing the posters. Everywhere. You fucking fallen angels . . ."

"It was your idea?" Sherlock asked.

"You're fucking right, it was," Daniel said, smiling. "And all those photographs -- where did they come from? The creative 'genius' Brian Russell. He stole my idea." He paused for a moment, as if to calm his rage, and then smiled again. "You might as well drink up -- you're not going anywhere."

Sherlock held the glass but didn't take a drink. "But why not kill Russell?" he asked quietly.

"You don't get it -- I don't want to hurt him," Daniel said calmly. "I want to ruin him. Don't tell me there's nothing dodgy going on at that place -- enough attention and it'll be found and then Brian Russell will be exposed and ruined. It'll happen. Until then, I'm afraid you're just collateral damage. Shame really." He finished his wine. "Don't worry -- it'll be quick and simple. I'm not a monster."

John was watching the minutes tick by. There was no text from Sherlock. John called Greg and gave him the address before pulling the gun out from his jeans and heading inside. He moved quickly and quietly. He was worried for Sherlock, but he was in his element. When he arrived at the right flat number, he listened at the door for a moment. He didn't hear anything. Ignoring the consequences that might come from it, John barrelled into the door and knocked it open, his gun straight and steady, aimed right at the man who had pulled out a knife. "Drop it, now," John demanded, turning off the safety. 

Sherlock turned at the noise but stayed where he was sitting. His eyes met John's and then he realised he was breathing again. He stood up. "Put it down," he said to Daniel. "You don't want to die -- you'll miss Russell's ruin." When the man dropped it, Sherlock reached quickly to kick it out of reach. He stepped behind John towards the door. He saw Lestrade turn the corner. "They're here," he said.

The man moved, but John held the gun steady. "I mean it!" he shouted. And then Greg and his officers were storming in and the man was being handcuffed. John hid his gun quickly. "Are you all right?" he asked Sherlock. 

"Of course, I'm all right -- because I was right," Sherlock said. But he wanted to go home. He didn't care about what happened next. He'd answer Lestrade's questions later. Right now he just wanted to get out of this place and be back at the flat with John. "I want to go home," he said, trying to keep his voice steady before adding, "Please."

John studied him for a moment before nodding. He caught Greg's eye and promised to call him later and tell him what happened. He didn't seem like he wanted them to go yet, but Sherlock was already leaving and John had to hurry to catch up. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, trying to sound convincing. "Just . . . glad it's over. Did you hear any of it?" He lifted his hand for a taxi. When he got in, he explained what the guy had said. "Fuck," he said suddenly. "It was that guy whose file had no picture -- he really was called Daniel." He was annoyed at himself that he hadn't made the connection.

"Well, it's done now and he's caught and we can put it all behind us." John looked out of his window. "You're not going out alone like that again." He was only now starting to catch up with everything he had felt, with all of the worry and stress. 

"Fine," Sherlock said. He leaned his head against the window. When they got back to the flat, he said, "I think I'm tired. I'm going to go lie down for a bit, okay?" He headed to his room. "Wake me up in a bit."

"Okay," John said. He watched Sherlock go. He didn't seem right, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it. John got on his computer, writing up a detailed description of what they had been doing for the last few days leading to ending up at the flat. He had to include the fact that Sherlock took photos but threatened Greg with bodily harm if he ever mentioned it to anyone or to Sherlock. Then he started working up a more subdued version for the blog. 

Sherlock had flopped down on the bed. For some reason he had the urge to just go away into his mind, which was unusual. Normally after a case, he loved going over the details, finding connections he hadn't seen, remembering details which could come in useful in the future. Today was different. He closed his eyes and tried to go to a place where there were no angels or glasses of wine or knives.

Thank god, though, John was there. In his mind, John was standing in front of Sherlock, and then moving towards Sherlock. John was protecting Sherlock. Comforting him. It felt nice. Sherlock turned on his side on the bed and kind of wished John was here beside him right now.


	6. Fun

Halfway through John's work on the blog, he got up to make some tea and realised a couple hours had passed already. He pulled out a second mug while he waited for the water. He didn't know what 'a bit' was to Sherlock, but John assumed a couple hours was enough. 

Sherlock heard a tap at his bedroom door. He pushed himself up on the bed. "Yes?" he said, glancing at the clock, surprised how much time had passed. "Come in," he called.

"I've made some tea," he said, bringing the mug into Sherlock's room. "Did you sleep okay? How do you feel?"

"I didn't --" Sherlock started, taking the tea. "I slept all right. I don't know why I got so tired." He took a sip of tea and shifted his legs a little as a kind of invitation for John to sit down. 

John sat down beside him and sipped his own tea. "I emailed Greg so we don't have to go in and see him," he said. 

"Good, yeah," Sherlock said. He stretched a little. "God, I feel like it's been the longest day . . . I kind of fancy staying right here all night." He looked over at John. "Are you going out tonight?"

John shook his head. "I'm writing up the story for the blog, I'll probably just be working on that."

"No, don't," Sherlock said. "You can do it tomorrow or something -- let's just . . . do nothing but together."

"I have work tomorrow," John said. "Couldn't I write while we did nothing together?"

"Fine," Sherlock said disappointedly. "But I'm doing nothing in here so you'll have to go bring your laptop in." 

"And what? Just lay in bed with you?" John asked. 

"Well, you don't have to get in, but you could just sit here with me or in the chair if you insist," Sherlock said, motioning to the corner. "It doesn't matter, does it? It's the same as sitting out there but it's just . . . in here." He wasn't quite sure why this felt like something he wanted to do but it did. "It's fine -- you don't have to. It was just an idea . . ." He finished his tea so he didn't have to keep talking.

"I guess it's the same..." John said. "Let me go get my computer. Do you need anything?"

"No thanks," Sherlock said. "If you get hungry we can order something later." He was glad John had agreed, but he tried to keep a normal face. 

John nodded. He got his laptop and topped up both their cups of tea before coming back to Sherlock's room. He climbed into his bed, over the covers, and propped himself with a pillow on the head board.

This time Sherlock did smile when John came back in. "Thanks," he said. John really was so good to Sherlock. He realised he should stop taking that for granted. "I suppose this reminds you of when you were a kid -- you probably had friends sleep over at your house, doing pranks and talking about girls?" he asked.

John chuckled. "Not so much," he said. 

"Me neither," Sherlock said. "I never once had a friend stay over." He leaned back a little and closed his eyes for a moment. "Until you, I mean. In some ways I feel like you're a friend who stays over permanently. I'm really grateful for that." He kept his eyes closed as he spoke.

John glanced over at Sherlock, feeling a warmth in his chest. He was always caught off guard by Sherlock's occasional sweetness. "Well, I'm grateful for you as well," he said. 

Sherlock smiled a little. "Sorry about today," he said softly. "You were right...again."

John smiled. "That does sound very good," he teased. He took a deep breath. "I know you think I overdo it, but I'm only thinking about keeping you safe. Someone has to," he said. 

"Yes, John Watson," Sherlock said. "You have come in handy in many a situation."

John raised his brows. "Is that some crack about what I did for you for the photos?"

Sherlock laughed. "Well, I didn't mean it like that, but it's quite clever so just pretend I did."

John laughed. "Speaking of all of that, what if people keep trying to call you?"

"Fuck, I forgot about that," Sherlock said. "I'll go take them down tomorrow...shame, I was really hoping I'd meet the perfect partner, but I guess I'm stuck with you."

"You wish," John grinned.

"Until you find someone, at least," Sherlock said. "You hungry?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah, I could eat," John agreed.

Sherlock reached over to get his phone. "Chinese or do you want something different?" he asked.

"Um, no. Maybe Thai tonight?"

"Exotic," Sherlock smiled. He tossed the phone to John. "You order, I'll go down and answer the door. Get me something you'll be happy to take to lunch tomorrow."

John chuckled and placed the order. "Take money from my coat, okay? It's my treat."

"Uh -- no," Sherlock said. "Life saving skills deserve a free dinner." He smiled to himself again and then looked over at John. "Like that first case...remember?"

John nodded. "Of course I do. I was meant to find you, I think," he smiled. 

"I'm glad you did," Sherlock said. "Of course that night I only had to treat you to Chinese...now you're demanding something fancier."

"Thai is not 'fancy'. Besides, I said it was my treat," John pointed out. 

"Stop being contrary -- Thai is fancy and I am paying and shut up because we're in my room and I'm in charge," Sherlock said. He reached over and finished his tea. "I'm bored. Stop trying to fight me and let's do something fun."

"Fun? Should I put the wings on this time?" he asked, grinning at Sherlock. 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to?" he asked. "Do you want me to take pictures?"

John laughed louder. "No, you goof. I was joking. Look, I haven't written a damn thing messing around with you!"

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Get to work because after we eat, we are doing something fun if it kills us. Get to work," he repeated. He turned on his side and looked at John. "I'll watch."

"That's not unsettling at all," John teased, continuing to type where he left off before making tea. 

Despite John's comment, Sherlock stayed looking at him. He really was good. Sherlock had never had a friend like him. He was quite handsome as well. After spending a week looking at photographs of men who were supposedly sexy, Sherlock realised John was way better looking than any of them.

John glanced over. "Maybe you should go look for the food?" he asked. 

"All right, but when I get back, how about a little less bossiness?" Sherlock said, sitting up before standing a stretching. "I need the toilet anyway." He headed out, stopping in the bathroom. He washed his face and then heard a noise from downstairs so he went to retrieve the food. He brought it back to the kitchen, grabbing some silverware and bringing it into the bedroom. "Close that up," he said. "You're done working for the night."

"But I've only -- okay, fine," John said as Sherlock pushed the box of food into his lap. John set the computer on the bedside table and started eating. "Thanks for dinner," John said.

"You're welcome," Sherlock said. He sat down and ate a little. Once he'd finished, he got up and took his food out to put it into the fridge for John tomorrow. He turned the kettle on and came back into the bedroom while it boiled. He started to strip off to put his pajamas on.

John watched Sherlock, trying to be sly by looking over his dinner container. 

Sherlock threw his clothes into the corner and then crawled back into bed. "Hurry up and finish -- the kettle's gone, you can bring back tea when you take that out," he said.

"Rude," John said. He got up and put his food away, then poured fresh tea and came back. He handed Sherlock the mug and hesitated. "Are you going to sleep?"

"No," Sherlock said. "We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves. What do you want to do?"

"Hmm. Want to watch a film or play a game?"

"Game, please." Sherlock took a sip of tea but snuggled down a little.

"Oh. Okay, let me think for a minute," John said. He hummed to himself. "Let’s share different first time stories -- not sex stuff. Just in general."

"Obviously since I don't have a first time sex story," Sherlock said. "But I do have a first time crime story. Should I tell that?"

"Sure. But I was thinking more...fun...like the first time you rode a bike or got a chemistry set."

"I've never ridden a bike and I was five when I got a chemistry set," Sherlock said. "Crime is fun, John... well, actually, that story's not that fun, now that I think about it..." He looked over at John. "You start then."

"The first time I rode a bike alone I ran over a stick the wrong way and fell into a mud puddle," John smiled.

Sherlock smiled. "And was anyone there to witness this spectacle?" he asked.

"My mum. I was crying and she bought me ice cream," John grinned. 

"John, why does your so-called fun story involve your own humiliation?" Sherlock asked. "Is that fun for you?"

John laughed. "It's not humiliating -- not even close, compared to other moments I've had. It makes me smile."

"Tell me about another humiliating moment," Sherlock said.

"Nope. You tell me one," John said.

"Well, the crime story turned humiliating so I'll tell that," Sherlock said. "Okay, right, so I was about eleven and I was walking home from school and had taken off my tie because I was sick of it but it fell out of my bag. I knew I was going to get in trouble for it because it was the third one my parents had had to replace, so I had to figure out what to do. So I walked down to the bus stop and waited for a smaller kid to get off and I took his tie from him."

"You're a bully!" John laughed.

"No, I was a criminal," Sherlock said. "But then some larger boys beat me senseless -- there, you happy?"

"Because you took the tie?" John asked.

"Well, to be fair, I didn't stop to ask their motivation," Sherlock said. "When I got home, I was still in trouble because of the torn trousers. So it was both fun and humiliating -- just like you like."

"Hmm. I got beat up once and while it was happening Harry came and chased them off. They got me harder the next day for letting a girl fight for me." John looked over at Sherlock. "We've drifted away from fun, I think."

"I bet you looked quite good with a black eye, though," Sherlock said, yawning a little. "The thing is... when I think about fun things I've done, you've kind of always been there so there's no real use in retelling them. I never did anything fun before I met you, I don't think. In fact, I used to hate fun. But then you started hanging around here, forcing it on me and I guess I just got used to it." 

"Careful now...you're bordering on saying something sweet," John teased softly. He yawned when Sherlock yawned, thinking about getting under the covers.

"I am quite sweet really -- you never give me credit for that which is a shame because you're the only one I'm ever sweet to," Sherlock said. He curled himself up a little. "It's cold in here." He flopped the blanket over John. "Don't catch cold because I'm not taking care of an ill person. That would definitely not be fun."

John fiddled with the covers a bit, turning on his side. "You'd just let me suffer?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. He turned over on his side away from John. "I'm not good at taking care of other people like you are," he added quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "I wish I could do better for you, John."

John's brow furrowed. "Sherlock, I was teasing. You're fine...you do fine," he said. 

"I wish I were better than fine," Sherlock said softly. Then he turned back over to face John. "I have a new game," he said. "If you were given one million pounds right now and had to spend it in the next hour, what would you do with it?"

"I would buy a private plane and a pilot," John said. "I would travel and spend all the money buying fancy foreign things. How about you?"

"I would give it to you," Sherlock said.

"What? No, come on. What would you do -- you have to spend it."

"I would," Sherlock said. "I would give it to you and you could go out and buy me ten years' worth of cigarettes, a couple bottles of extremely expensive whiskey, a small fridge and spend the rest on something to keep you entertained. When you get back, you can bring all that -- plus the kettle, tea, and milk -- into this room and I will have literally everything in the world that I need." 

John laughed. "I'm taking every penny and running for it!"

"I don't think you would," Sherlock said, looking up to meet his eye. Then he flopped onto his back again. "However, even if you might, I'd still risk it."

"I'd buy you candy cigarettes," John said, studying Sherlock's profile now. 

"For a million pounds, John Watson, you would buy me proper cigarettes," Sherlock said.

"Nope. Not even for ten million."

"Will you at least be in charge of making the tea?" Sherlock said. "Whenever I request it?"

"I do that already for zero million," John grinned. 

"Really? Because my mug is empty right now," Sherlock smiled.

"I just brought some! And we're going to bed now anyway," he said. 

"Well, then quit being mean to me," Sherlock said. He pushed John's arm a little and then rolled away on his side. "I thought sleepovers were supposed to be more fun..." he muttered under his breath.

"What do you want? To play truth or dare and try to summon spirits?" John laughed.

Sherlock rolled off quickly. "Do you want to?" he asked.

"Want to what? Summon spirits?" 

"Is this some weird reference to the whole angel business? I knew you were into that!" Sherlock said and laughed.

"No! What did you mean?" John asked. 

"I don't know what I'm talking about," Sherlock said, yawning a little. "I guess, just your being here is kind of fun -- I know I kept you from working and I'm probably annoying you, but I've just felt a bit off since we got back...anyway, thanks for staying here with me."

"You're not annoying me, Sherlock. It was fun, hanging out like this."

"Do you really think so?" Sherlock asked shyly.

"Yeah. We don't do it enough," he said.

Sherlock wondered what precisely John was talking about -- spending the evening together or hanging out in Sherlock's room. "Maybe we could do it again," Sherlock suggested.

"Yeah," John nodded, yawning again. 

Now Sherlock wondered if John was going to sleep in his room, and he realised he kind of wanted him to. He wasn't sure what it meant. Was it just because he was so comfortable at the moment? Was it something to do with being afraid earlier? "Did you set your alarm?" he asked quietly.

John's eyes drooped shut. "Hmm...set yours," he murmured, half asleep already. 

Sherlock reached for his phone and set it. He turned off the lamp. "Night, John," he said.

"Night," John mumbled sleepily, dozing off seconds after.


	7. The Posters

Sherlock opened his eyes when he heard his alarm. "John," he said, nudging him. "Get out of my bed."

John shifted when he heard the alarm, groaning as he stretched. He sat up and yawned. "Gotta shower," he said as he got out of bed.

Sherlock pulled the covers up around him and closed his eyes again, letting himself doze a few more minutes. Then he dragged himself out of bed and got dressed. When John came out of the shower, he was making tea. "I forgot about the posters," he said. "I'll head out with you to pick them up."

"Oh, all right," John said as he moved about making breakfast and getting the leftovers for lunch.

"Did you say you were taking me out to dinner tonight?" Sherlock asked as John rushed around the flat. 

"Did I?" John asked. "Sure, I will." 

"If you insist," Sherlock said. He smiled as John moved in and out of the room while he leaned against the worktop. He wouldn't bother showering -- once he got back from his errand, he'd take a long, hot bath. He rinsed out his mug and moved towards the door.

John grabbed his lunch and his coat and followed Sherlock out.

Once they parted Sherlock walked on to retrieve the posters. One had been defaced so he folded that up so he could show John, who'd probably enjoy it quite a bit. He wandered around and got all of them but three. He wasn't sure what that meant -- had someone taken them and, if so, why? Had Daniel taken the others? It made him feel a bit unsettled. He went straight home and started the bath, hoping that perhaps that would help him shake off the feeling.

John went to work and, in the back of his mind, thought about Sherlock's posters. He thought about those three he'd put in his book and hoped he still had them, in case he wanted to look at them again. Sherlock really was gorgeous. He wondered if that was wrong to think or if he should confess it to Sherlock. He didn't really need to know, did he? He picked up his phone and sent Sherlock a quick text.

_Did you get all of your posters? -JW_

After Sherlock's bath, he had rested on his bed for a bit, but he still didn't feel as settled as he should. He looked over at the other pillow, imagining John's head there. He wasn't quite sure why he'd enjoyed John's staying in his room last night, but Sherlock couldn't deny that he had. He wondered if he'd feel better if John were here now and kind of thought he might. Was this all just because of the case? Yes, he'd stupidly put himself in a dangerous position, but god knows it wasn't the first time (and probably not the last time) his impulse to get information had outweighed his safety concerns. And he hadn't actually been hurt at all. Why didn't he just feel pleased and satisfied like he usually felt at the end of cases?

He got up to write out his notes, hoping that might symbolically end any feelings about what had happened. He had just finished them with John's text came through.

_Most of them. A couple were missing. Perhaps I did charm a perfect partner after all. I'll try not to run off into the sunset with him before you get home. When will you be back? SH_

_Just over an hour. I am finishing up. Don't forget your wings if you do take off. -JW_

John had stopped seeing patients as they dwindled down for the day and was getting caught up on completing paperwork for their charts. He knew it was risky bringing up the missing photos but he hoped it would come off as reverse guilt -- John couldn't possibly have them if he was concerned about them. Then he would just take the book up to his room and no one would have to know. 

Sherlock was annoyed that it'd be another hour until John got home. Although he had tried to convince himself all was normal, he still didn't feel quite seem right. Case solved, notes written up, John's blog post (almost) completed -- all as usual, but something still felt off. Maybe he was just overthinking it. Maybe he just needed something else to think about. He checked his email and then reached out to some contacts, hoping to drum up a new case.

It wasn't long until Sherlock's phone vibrated with a text from John. Sherlock reached for his phone.

_On my way. Want dinner? -JW_

_No, but you probably do. You said you'd take me out, not bring food in. Don't alter plans set in stone, John Watson. Just come home. SH_

He'd hit send before he realised that was a bit unpleasant and probably not fair since after all he'd invented John's invitation in the first place. Whatever was bothering him wasn't caused by John, he didn't think, so he probably at least try not to take it out on him. He'd said last night that he wished he could treat John better, so he maybe he should try a little harder. 

_Right, sorry. I'm on my way. -JW_

Sherlock got up to the kettle on, pulling down two mugs from the cupboard. He decided tonight he would try to show John how much he appreciated him. He wasn't quite sure how he intended to do that, but maybe focusing on that would keep Sherlock from thinking about whatever felt not-normal about the past twenty four hours. Yes, tonight Sherlock would just be normal even if it killed him. He was just pouring the tea as John came in the flat.

"Hello there," Sherlock called out cheerfully, realising already that that was not a very normal thing at all. "Tea's up," he added in his regular voice as he brought it in.

"Oh, great," John said as he hung his coat. "Don't have too much so you can eat. Where do you want to go?" 

"I don't want to choose," Sherlock said. He sat down on the sofa. "You have no idea what today's been like since all you've been doing is sitting around looking in people's ears -- it's been a nightmare here so you need to decide. I'm too tired."

"Okay, relax," John said. "Let's just go to Angelo's. Easy. We know we like it there."

"That's fine," Sherlock said. He looked over at him. "So work was fine?"

"Yeah, it wasn't too bad. Tell me about your apparently horrendous day," John said.  

"Well, there were no clients at all," Sherlock said. "I could barely stay alive I was so bored..."

"I see your boredom hasn't affected your flare for the dramatics," John smiled lightly. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock said, throwing his arm ridiculously. "I'm exhausted...I contacted quite a few people, being extra charming and you know that doesn't come easy to me, and then I read the newspaper and I..." He glanced round before continuing. "...I cleaned the whole flat and organised the kitchen and read this entire book." He grabbed the book sitting on the table next to him. Something fell out of it so he reached over to pick it up. "That's why I'm so tired and that's I'm being dramatic," he added as he opened the sheets and saw they were his missing posters. He looked up at John. "Care to explain these?" he asked.

John tried to think. "I...they must have been misplaced..." he finally said stupidly. "You found them."

Sherlock turned the book in his hand. It definitely wasn't one of his. He looked back up at John again. "They were misplaced?" he asked. "In your book?"

"I...yeah. Before we hung them up so they wouldn't crease but I forgot them..." he said. He wasn't looking at Sherlock, looking at the book instead. 

"That, John Watson, is a lie," Sherlock said. "I don't know why precisely why they're here, but I do know that is not the reason."

John's eyes found Sherlock's when he said John's full name. "Can we just forget it?" he asked, his stomach knotting nervously. 

Sherlock looked over, not quite sure what he was reading on John's face. "I doubt either of us will," he said.

John looked away and stood up, pacing back and forth behind his chair. "I liked them. I...you look amazing and I liked the way they looked, the way you looked so...so I kept them."

Sherlock crinkled his forehead. This didn't seem like a joke; he was genuinely confused by John's reaction. "But you see me all the time? Why do you want to look at the pictures when I'm right here?" he asked.

"I...not like that," John said. "The day we took those...I don't know. I saw you differently. I always knew you were handsome, but I saw you as sexy and I liked it." His voice was even quieter now. There would definitely be no coming back from this.

"You mean . . . you mean you thought . . . you thought . . ." Sherlock stopped talking while his brain was trying to make sense of John's words. "You like just the pictures or is it . . .?" he asked.

"You," John said simply.


	8. Everything

Sherlock stood stupidly, his eyes slightly blurring because he didn't know what to look at. "I don't understand these things, John," he said. "I don't know what all that is about...I mean, is it like just...sex things or is it more or...what am I supposed to do or say...I don't know about these things..." he rambled.

"I...it's not just sex things. I don't think so. And you don't have to say anything. We can just forget it..." John suggested again. 

"I don't want to," Sherlock said. "Forget about, I mean. I want to...understand. Can I ask a couple questions?"

"Okay, yeah," John said. He awkwardly made his way back into his chair, watching Sherlock nervously. 

Sherlock looked closely at John, trying to decide where to start. "Do you want to do sex to me?" he asked. He hadn't quite meant for it to come out like that, but in fairness it probably was his biggest question.

Despite the awkwardness, John's mouth tilted up into a very small smile. "I've thought about it," he confirmed.

"But I don't know how to do sex," Sherlock said. "I didn't even know how to..." He swallowed awkwardly so he reached over and took a sip of his now cool tea. "Do you think that it's something I'd like?" he asked. "I mean, I've never be interested but...but obviously, you're different..."

John licked his lips lightly. "I could show you..." he said. "But it would be up to you," he added quickly.

"What if I don't like it?" Sherlock asked. "Will you stop being friends with me then? Does that mean we'll have to break up, I mean, or whatever you call it..."

"No," John shook his head. "If you don't like it, we stop and it'll just be...something we tried. I won't be angry. I won't leave."

"You promise?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, I might want to try it...with you, I mean, but I wouldn't want to let you down if I can't do it right..."

"You won't -- you couldn't," John said. He was getting excited, trying to keep himself under control so he wouldn't scare Sherlock. 

"Don't be stupid, John," Sherlock said. "I don't usually get these kinds of things right...feelings and all. I could try but I'm still worried." He swallowed again. "Do you want to do it now or what?"

"Sherlock, I'm being serious. There's no right way. As long as everyone involved is comfortable and happy..." John trailed off. He took a deep breath and mustered his courage. "Why don't we go up to my room?" 

"All right," Sherlock said. He also took a deep breath and then closed his eyes for a moment. Is this why things had felt unusual -- because he'd sensed some difference even if he hadn't expected it to be this difference? He opened his eyes and looked at John. "All right," he repeated. "Let's try it."

John stood and held out his hand, watching Sherlock carefully. "There's absolutely no pressure...we don't have to today," he said. 

"Don't try to change my mind," Sherlock said. "Just...show me what to do."

John nodded and led Sherlock up to his room. He shut the door and then crowded Sherlock against it. A spike of heat pierced his body as he realised this was all new for Sherlock, and John was going to be the one to show him just how good it could all feel. He leaned up slowly, taking his time, letting his breath ghost over Sherlock's lips. He closed the space and kissed him softly. 

Sherlock had his eyes open, but saw that John's were closed, so he closed his as well. He felt John's mouth on his. He leaned into it a little, not quite sure what to do. 

John moved his mouth slowly, guiding Sherlock's mouth, flicking his tongue out lightly. 

Sherlock tried to mimic John's movement, moving his tongue in the same way. It was unusual but not bad. Quite interesting actually. He pulled his head back a little and asked, "Is it okay?" 

John nodded. "Do you like it?" He asked softly. 

"I think so," Sherlock said a bit stupidly. "What else?" He put his hands on John's hips.

"Don't think about it like that. Just...do what feels good," John said. This time he put his mouth on Sherlock's neck, kissing and biting softly at the skin. He could discover all new places on him...show Sherlock new places that felt good.

"John, that feels good," Sherlock said quietly. "It feels good," he repeated even though he didn't mean to. His hands gripped John more tightly, pulling him closer.

John hummed softly as he moved lower, sucking lightly. He didn't want to leave a mark--not this time, and he suspected Sherlock's pale skin would show it easily. He unbuttoned the top couple buttons of Sherlock's shirt to trace his collar bone with kisses, licking into the hollow at the nape of his neck.

Sherlock made a noise in his throat that surprised him. He kept pulling on John. "What should I do?" he whispered as his skin tingled from John's touch.

"Exactly this," he murmured, rolling his hips against Sherlock's as he unbuttoned more of his shirt, kissing his way back up Sherlock's neck.

"John," Sherlock exhaled as he slid his hands around to John's lower back. He moved his hips against John's movement. "I think...it might be happening..."

John nodded. "I feel you," he murmured. He tugged Sherlock away from the door and, after removing his shirt, had him lie down on the bed. Then he climbed over him and traced his fingers along the curves and dips of Sherlock's torso. "You're so gorgeous..." he sighed, leaning down to kiss his mouth again. 

Sherlock kissed John back, feeling a little more confident that what he was doing was right. He lifted his hands to John's head and held it. "You're...good," he mumbled in the kiss.

"At this?" John asked with a smile, sitting up to pull the jumper over his head. 

"At everything," Sherlock said smiling back. "But definitely the best at this."

John took his shirt off as well, leaning back down to kiss Sherlock. This time when he kissed Sherlock's neck, he continued down his chest, slowly making his way to Sherlock's nipple, sucking lightly. 

Sherlock let a small noise escape from his throat. He hadn't really ever thought about that. "It's good," he said again, trying to ignore the fact that his vocabulary had suddenly become quite limited.

John grazed his teeth over the nipple as it raised in his mouth, his hands lightly rubbing Sherlock's hips. 

"I want to do something to you," Sherlock mumbled, looking down at John's face. "Show me…"

"You can do anything you want, love." John glanced down where he was heading. "I just have a couple more things on my list..."

"But I don't know what to do," Sherlock said, lifting a hand to his face. "You know about these things...I don't know anything..."

"Then let me show you more," John said, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's palm before continuing the trail downwards over his stomach. 

Sherlock looked down again, trying to pay attention but also feeling the intense mix of excitement and nerves. "Everything you do feels good, John," he mumbled.

"Everything you do will feel good too," John said. "Your hands on my skin...your lovely mouth..." John whined softly and buried into Sherlock's belly for a moment, huffing out a breath before lifting to tug his pajamas off. 

Sherlock lifted his hands to John's shoulder, rubbing them. When John took off his pajamas, he felt a moment of shyness, which was stupid since John had already seen this and had even done some of it before. But it was different now. Everything was different now.

John touched Sherlock's bulging cock. "Still okay?"

"Yes, please," Sherlock whispered. He closed his eyes again, letting his head roll to the side. "Please touch it like before..."

John made a small sound again as he wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock. He stroked slowly, kissing his hip, then lower, before he licked out at the head. Sherlock called out loudly, moaning and mumbling John's name and the word good. He wiggled a little on the bed as his hands gripped the sheets. John paused for a second so Sherlock could call down before licking out again. Sherlock's heart was racing and he tried to concentrate on his breathing. Everything in his body felt good, which was so unusual -- he'd never felt anything like it, he'd never even cared much about how his body felt. But this was incredible. He made another moan.

"I want you to tell me when you feel close, okay?" John murmured, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking lightly. 

"I'll try," Sherlock said. "How will I know?"

"You'll feel it...you'll know," John explained. He moved his hand down to the base of Sherlock's cock and sucked more into his mouth, bobbing slowly. 

Intriguing, Sherlock thought, not really able to imagine anything feeling better than what he felt right now. "Everything feels so good, John," he moaned, reaching down and tangling his fingers in his hair.

John hummed around Sherlock, revelling in the feel of his hand in his hair. One day Sherlock would be more confident and his hands would be everywhere -- the thought made John roll his hips against the bed, his straining cock getting hard as he moved faster on Sherlock, taking him deeper. 

"God," Sherlock called as his body arched off the bed. "Maybe . . . maybe I might be close." His breath was jagged. "Please let me do something to you . . ."

John pulled off of Sherlock, moving up his body again. "Breathe, love..." he murmured, kissing Sherlock's flushed cheeks.

Sherlock's hands quickly moved around John's body, holding him tightly. "It feels so good," he mumbled against John's neck. He tried to take some deep breaths. When he felt a little calmer, he started to kiss John's skin, sucking lightly, before rolling them over so they were lying side by side. He dropped his head and kissed John's chest, flicking his tongue across a nipple and then sucking it gently. "Do you like this?" he said, before moving to the other nipple.

John nodded, his breathing already shallow. "Yes...perfect," he moaned softly, lifting his head to look. 

"You have a taste," Sherlock said. "Now I know what it is." He continued to cover John's chest and then slid down a little, kissing his stomach as well. He reached down and held John's cock for a few moments, just getting the sense of it in his hand.

These were such ordinary little touches and kisses but they were from Sherlock -- the first time Sherlock was doing them to anyone and John's whole body was ready to burst into flames. "So good...you feel so good," he murmured. 

John's reassurance helped -- Sherlock was trying not to think of the other people who had been with John like this because he knew it would only make him more self-conscious. He tried to move his hand like John had done, slowly but firmly stroking his cock. He slid himself back up the bed as he did, so he could kiss John some more.

John tangled his fingers into Sherlock's curls as he kissed him back, half letting him lead so he could get more confident. He'd be so dangerous with a bit of confidence...John couldn't wait to discover it with him, to be the receiver of anything Sherlock wanted to try. 

"Does it always feel this good or is it only because it's my first time?" Sherlock asked as they kissed.

"It always does," John said. "But it might feel more intense because it's your first time."

"And because it's you," Sherlock said. "I want to try something else," he added and then moved down the bed again. He pulled John's body so he was flat on his back and then placed himself in between John's legs. He kept stroking John, watching his hand carefully, before leaning close and licked John as his hand stilled at the base. "This okay?" he whispered, as he continued to flick his tongue up and down the length.

John whined softly and covered his face for a second before sliding his hand back through his hair. "Yes," he moaned. "Sherlock...it's fantastic," he murmured, trying to keep his breathing under control. 

Sherlock lifted his head and looked up. "Are you going to...you know?" he asked quietly.

John shook his head. "Not yet," he murmured. "Please don't stop yet..." 

"I don't want to stop," Sherlock said. "But maybe you should warn me so I know." He kept licking and then wrapped his lips around John's tip, sliding it a little into his mouth before dragging it back. He kept doing this, taking a little more in each time, trying to mimic everything John had done. He realised his own hips were rocking a bit against the bed.

"Fuck, that's good," John moaned, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock kept going, letting a hand drop to rub John's inner thighs. He then covered the whole area with kisses -- places on John he'd never seen, he was now seeing and touching. "What should I do now?" he whispered.

John tugged him up, kissing his mouth again as he shifted them on the bed. "I want to be inside of you...fill you up," he murmured against Sherlock's ear as he nipped at the lobe. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," Sherlock said quickly. He wanted to experience it all now. "Just tell me what to do…" He pressed himself against John.

"Just relax," John said, kissing his mouth again. He got up and got a bottle of lube, hesitating on the condoms. "I'm clean, and I know you are as well, but I want you to decide if you want me to wear one or not."

Sherlock exhaled as he tried to think. "Maybe you should," he said. He reached down and held himself. "Unless you don't want to, I can't think properly," he said, making a stupid little smile.

John climbed up onto the bed. "Well, besides catching something, which we don't have to worry about, there's the mess. When I come, it'll be inside, and will most likely leak out. Will that be okay?"

Sherlock instinctively crinkled his nose. "Maybe you should wear one," he said quietly. "For the first time...I mean, maybe if we do it again...if you want to..." 

John grinned. "I don't ever want to stop doing this with you," he said, leaning down to kiss him quickly before settling between Sherlock's legs. He pushed them open and poured a bit of lube, just rubbing it on for a little while before he pushed one finger inside slowly. 

"It's unusual," Sherlock mumbled, as he closed his eyes. His hand moved slowly on his cock. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"I like that it's making you feel good," he smiled. He pumped his finger steadily, adding a second one. Sherlock was going to be tight, he needed to take his time. He was going slow again, watching his own fingers, Sherlock's hand on his cock, and Sherlock's face. 

"It does feel good," Sherlock moaned. He moved his hips with John's finger's movement. "It feels...good," he repeated. "Sorry... seems I can't talk good." He looked down at John and gave an embarrassed smile.

"Good," John grinned. He stretched his fingers, taking his time to open Sherlock, adding a third before reaching for the condom. 

"Is it going to hurt?" Sherlock asked. "It doesn't hurt...but will it?"

John shook his head. "You'll feel stretched," he said. "But it shouldn't really hurt. Talk to me, okay? It's okay to stop if we have to." He took his fingers out and rolled on the condom. He leaned over Sherlock, kissed his mouth, and pushed into Sherlock slowly.

"John," Sherlock called out as his hands reached to grab John's arms. "Slower...it's...I'm okay, don't stop, just slow." He lay back and concentrated on his breath. "It's okay," he mumbled.

John slowed even more, barely inching into Sherlock as they kissed. 

Sherlock kept breathing carefully as his body adjusted. He let his hands slid to John's back and he held him tightly. "Is this love, too, then? Is this what that feels like?" he asked softly.

"That's more here," he murmured, kissing over Sherlock's heart. "Do you feel it?" 

"I'm doing sex with you," Sherlock smiled. "I think that means something." He began to move his hips a little. "I think...will you move more now?" he asked.

John rolled his hips with a more steady rhythm into Sherlock. "Will you say it? If it's true?" he asked softly, kissing Sherlock's mouth lightly between the words. 

"I love you," Sherlock said softly. "I do, John." He kissed him soft on the mouth.

John kissed him harder, humming softly as his hips moved even faster into Sherlock. 

Sherlock stopped moving for a second. "Are you going to say it as well?" he asked.

"Oh," John sighed, realising he'd been too caught up in hearing the words. This was new, but hadn't he felt it all along? Wasn't that why they we're different? "I love you, Sherlock." He smiled and kissed his mouth. It felt right. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled and his whole body felt warm in a way he'd never felt before. "And do you like doing this with me?" he asked.

John nodded. "Very much." He kissed Sherlock again. "I'm close...you feel so good..."

"Can you...?" Sherlock pushed him up and pushed John's hand down. "Can you do…me?" he asked stupidly.

John nodded, gripping Sherlock's cock and stroking as he moved his hips faster. He was panting heavily.

"Don't stop," Sherlock moaned. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back. One of his hands gripped John's arm and the other squeezed a fistful of the blanket. He felt the bed move with John's thrusts and suddenly something was happening to him that had never happened before. He gasped a little and lifted his head. "God," he shouted loudly, "God, John, I --" And then he was coming in John's hand and his body wasn't his anymore, he had no control of it, he let the waves take him.

John made a small sound as he watched -- as Sherlock's body squeezed around him and pulled him in deeper. He was gorgeous. John continued moving into Sherlock until his own orgasm spilled over, electricity pulsed through every nerve. He fell into the crook of Sherlock's neck, moaning and panting. 

"John," Sherlock exhaled as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted his hands to John's head, holding it. He almost felt like he might cry, but he didn't. He just held John as close as he possibly could.

John shifted, threw away the condom, and cuddled close to him. "Sherlock...are you okay?" he asked softly. 

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I just...I just didn't know what it'd be like but now I do." That wasn't really what he meant, but he wasn't sure what else to say.

"Did you like it?" He asked softly. "I mean, do you want to do it again with me?"

"Yes, I liked it," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. "I'd never do it with anyone but you."

John kissed his mouth softly. "I do love you," he murmured. "Sleep here with me."

Sherlock curled around John. "My backside hurts," he said with a little smile.

John bit his lip. "That...does tend to happen after," he said. "Do you want me to run you a bath? It helps sometimes."

"No, I think I can handle it," Sherlock said. "Maybe in the morning..." He yawned a little and snuggled close again.

"Okay," John said. "Um..." John paused and smiled wider. "Can I keep the photos?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "You pervert." He laughed a little. "But I'm not wearing those wings again so don't get that into your head."

"That's not what I'm going to be looking at," John grinned wider. 

"You really are a pervert, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Just remember that I'm new to all this...but I liked it so just don't take advantage." He yawned a little. "It's exhausting though."

"I am not a pervert," John said, pulling the covers up better. "You're the one that's going to take advantage -- you can have that any time you want."

"Let's sleep a little bit and maybe we can do it again," Sherlock said. "You always take care of me, John. I thought you were everything to me, and now you really are." He stroked John's arm lightly as they both fell to sleep.


End file.
